


The Prince Consort, Part IV/VI

by Persephone



Series: Willing to Take the Risk [21]
Category: Valentine's Day (2010)
Genre: Canon Gay Character, Canon Gay Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-11-14 04:47:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11200743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persephone/pseuds/Persephone
Summary: Holden returns to LA and tries to talk to his friends. Something goes completely wrong.





	1. Chapter 1

Sunday night following their return from Miami, he was lying on the couch in his study with his laptop open, waiting for the Jacksons to Skype. He was also going over his schedule for the summer with a hard eye toward some changes.

Even knowing that Sean hadn’t meant to complain, still he’d taken to heart Sean’s remarks about their too-short availably periods for being together, specifically, his own. It had been particularly noticeable because Sean wasn’t the type to complain about such things. Meaning it had become a problem. And because he’d meant his resolutions about taking better care of Sean, he was looking over assignments he didn’t need to personally oversee and could have his secretary Rachel delegate to staff. It wasn’t something he could do every year, but this year he needed to make the effort.

As for his phone call with the Jacksons, Allison was expected for dinner at her parents’ and he was going to update them all on their trip. Necessary after Sean’s photos from the ballroom floor, which had understandably gotten them all in a state. Sean was meant to be there for the call, but that probably wasn’t going to happen. As, apparently, excitement from a showroom floor carried a totally different appeal from talking details with his mother and sister on a video call. He couldn’t even remember what excuse Sean had given.

However, Sean’s general avoidance strategy worked well, since it allowed him to discuss the Johnston party arrangements in his absence. Including confirming that Davey was in fact attaching his wild fun ideas to Sean’s wedding tasks. A spoonful of sugar might make any medicine go down, but he could give Sean all the sugar in him and Sean would still procrastinate on their tasklist. Davey had therefore come up with a fool-proof strategy for keeping Sean motivated that involved roughhousing in cars and strange things like that. As part of the call, he wanted to hear for himself that it was working.

Sure enough, fifteen minutes to the call and Sean was still missing in action from his condo. He did, however, receive a text informing him that the water was nice and cool for an April evening, and that he was very beautiful. He could only smile.

And then his phone started buzzing, and it was Elliot.

—

Elliot informed him that everything was set for the coming weeks. That Petey had put together a smart approach to Sean’s outings with an eye to “something bigger,” that took into account some mandate from Geffen, and that Petey had put together a good mix of socials and fundraising that wouldn’t look staged or controlled, and that he’d like it.

“We’re kicking off casually with Ten Lounge in West Hollywood. Which is great and is Petey’s idea. Petey’s all set to tweet, he just needs your approval. So,” Elliot said evenly. “Are we good?”

Cured of his insanity of parading Sean through his former life, he nevertheless stalled, knowing that a phone call wasn’t when to bring it up.

“Why are we starting with a bar?” he asked. “I thought we were supposed to ease into all that. Start with guest list stuff instead.”

“Craig said to jump right in, and I agree.”

“But why are we tweeting it though? We never discussed that.”

“Because it’s game time, Holden.”

He stopped talking and stared at his laptop screen, still open on his project tasklist.

“You didn’t talk to him, did you?”

“Would you believe me if I told you there wasn’t actually time?”

Elliot was quiet. Then he said, “Not even on the flight?”

“I had to finish up some work. But listen, I gave it a little more thought.”

“And your answer is that you’re backing out.”

“Let’s talk tomorrow. Tonight we’re talking to his family and I want to focus on that. But let’s all four of us grab dinner and figure some things out.” _That don’t involve bars or men on the prowl._ “We’ll handle it. I promise.”

Elliot was again silent.

“Elliot,” he coaxed.

“You’ll be at the Thurgood Club fundraiser?”

“Yeah…”

“Then I’ll see you there.”

*

The next morning he was at Rachel’s desk handing over his modified schedule for the summer, feeling even more confident that he was doing the right thing. The call with the Jacksons had gone wonderfully and he’d been so happy afterward that he’d barely registered Sean’s super weak excuses for not making the call. Something about needing to stock up his fridge after his swim. But Sean hadn’t minded later listening to him recount the conversation, accepting whatever information he’d given him about their plans for the Johnston party and everything else concerning his family’s side. 

And he hadn’t minded at all the way Sean’s eyes had followed him around the living room while he’d been talking, Sean’s thoughts perfectly clear.

The clarity he’d gained in Miami hadn’t been a passing thing. Marriage was the name of the game now. Not struggles against himself, commitment, or exes. Definitely not against exes. The next two months were about decluttering. He’d just done it for his work schedule and at the Thurgood fundraiser he planned to do it for his social life. Sean was waiting only for _when next,_ about picking up from Miami, and frankly, so was he. The last thing that felt right was spending the remaining months before Sean had to return to training camp traipsing Sean through a ghost yard of men he’d once dated.

Having clarity also meant he was finally seeing to the PR around their wedding, which he was also having Rachel generate dates for so he could return to Gradient and Ev Nielsen’s offices. He was overdue for a followup with the magazines, but this time he wanted Sean there. No doubt he’d need help wrangling Sean for any of it, but he was counting on Kara’s assistance. And the results hopefully provide material for the Geffen Foundation to work with, instead of say, Petey coaxing out more private and much more interesting material.

He was still at Rachel’s desk when Craig appeared and stood at the entrance to her office. He glanced at him, but Craig was just standing there watching him. Craig then came over, taking in the letterheads from the magazines without comment, probably appreciating as much as him the changes attendant to his new so-called private life.

“No meeting on the summer calendar yet?” Craig asked.

“No,” he said, drawing out the word for emphasis.

“You’re seeing Elliot at the fundraiser?”

“Yup. Where I’m sure I’m about to get an earful of bossiness. Aren’t I supposed to be the one mad at him? I forget.”

Craig said nothing.

“Have you talked to him?” he asked.

“Briefly.”

And then, because the silence had now gotten kind of loaded, he looked again at Craig, who had pinned a concentrated and interested gaze on him. An unusually present look for Craig.

Then Craig started smiling.

With the kind of _year_ he’d been having, he ought to just ignore whatever was going on with Craig. But his curiosity was like a terrier. Reluctantly, he met Craig’s eyes.

“What?” he slowly asked.

“Miami was good, I take it?”

He continued staring at Craig, who’d said it in a way that assured him Craig didn’t mean visiting Soirée. While he tried to determine how to proceed, Craig’s eyebrow curiously went up.

Like him, Craig always spoke directly. But unlike him, Craig was nothing _but_ filter and only said things worth pointing out. Glancing at Rachel, who was busy inputing dates and not paying attention to them, he tilted his head and started moving toward his own office door. Craig followed.

At the door, and hopefully out of earshot, he eyed Craig. “What are you seeing?”

“You look like you just got out of bed.”

He stared blankly. Not even tempted to look down and check himself. Of course he was properly dressed for work. Craig was talking about an impression. One he wasn’t aware he was broadcasting.

But he did know exactly what Craig was referring to, because Craig didn’t seem to be the only one who’d noticed. Elliot had said something along those lines recently, and now that he was thinking about it, so had Stuart, an otherwise very timid ex of his.

And that was apart from him standing before the mirror mornings taking in the excitement in his eyes he couldn’t help seeing. He could stand there for minutes sometimes replaying entire scenes from the night before, basking in the afterglow of feeling like a sexual don and master.

Which was quite literally not what he wanted the entire world to be seeing when they looked at his face now.

“It’s okay,” Craig said, the usual precursor to his saying something that for normal people was definitely not going to be okay. “It takes someone who really knows you to see it.”

“You mean for instance every guy I’ve ever dated who’s seen the before and after.”

Craig broke into a slow, incredibly amused smile. Rather than, for God’s sake, at least pretending he was contemplating why this summer at least, it might not be such a good thing.

Craig seemed to be reading his mind and becoming even more amused.

“Well, I’m glad you think it’s funny.”

“Not funny. _Interesting._ ”

“Craig, an episode of Grey’s Anatomy is interesting. This is bad news.”

And obviously he had dodged all kinds of bullets in canceling Sean’s outings with them. Because wouldn’t it have been wonderful to have some ex walk up to Sean and tell him Holden was looking especially bright-eyed and that he’d know.

Craig’s smile had gone nowhere. Craig stepped back.

“Enjoy the fundraiser.”

He returned to Rachel’s desk aware that he hadn’t quite had the strength to tell Craig the whole thing was off. Anyway, the fundraiser wasn’t until tomorrow night. He’d work up to it.

—

Monday morning, two days after Miami, he was still on a high. And it was a high as compared to the week before when he’d been high off Holden’s high.

Last week it had felt like he should lie around and pretend he had nothing in the world to do except get kisses all day. Maybe nod at elaborate wedding arrangements, all of which each passing day was confirming that it all just amounted to an epic kegger in Spain after a five minute exchange of vows. Maybe steal Holden away for a trip or two to visit friends and get hosted in their home cities, eat steak dinners and pose for Instagram pictures. Maybe even tolerate more Bel Air cocktails and Cecelia Wilson’s blatant rejection of him. Last week it had all felt doable.

This week, his high felt more intimate. Like he should start telling anyone who’d listen to just go home and take time to be with the one they loved. Slow the world down and get to know each other even more, see what surprises came out of it. All because memories from Saturday night were still wrecking him.

Even having spent so many months chasing it, he’d all but forgotten what catching it felt like. What being paid attention to like that felt like. The hard sexual release that came from it. The things Holden did to him would one day cause him permanent damage. But goddamn, what a way it would be to go. Probably cut his career short and send Paula on a warpath, but he’d be literally too fucked to care.

So that even after a five hour cross country flight, a night spent trying to get Holden to stop talking about his family, or at least show him where it tickled so he could do something about it, a two-hour morning training, another two hours replying emails, one long ass phone call with his business management, and finally a hairy drive through L.A. morning traffic to get to Kara’s office, and his excitement had barely worn off.

And worse, Kara was aware of something. At least that his attention was severely eroded. Upright behind her desk, she was shooting narrow-eyed suspicious looks at him and making no bones about the fact that she wasn’t happy with him.

She’d even hinted at bringing Paula into it, a remark which had had him pulling on the face he reserved for team management. The one that showed he was not only paying attention but also appreciating the seriousness of the situation.

It was about the Patek campaign. He’d neglected to talk to Holden about it.

He’d tried explaining that there just hadn’t been time, that they’d only been in Miami overnight and that last night they’d—he’d almost truthfully said Holden—had to talk to his family and that the call had taken time.

But his excuses had only increased her distress. She shook her head with an air of buying none of it.

“Sean, we have eight weeks to the shoot—” which sounded like plenty of time to him, though normally by now the concepts would have been approved “—so I need you to tell me what the problem is. Are they too intimate? But I thought that’s what you liked about them. But okay, we can change them. I’ll call the ad exec right now. Tell her that while we like them, we’ll need some adjustments. It’s that simple. I just need the instruction.”

“Kar, there’s no problem. It’s just timing. When’s the hard deadline?”

“Friday.”

“Friday it is then, with a stop or a go. Most likely a go,” he quickly added when she geared up to counter.

Nostrils flaring, knowing she had no choice but to give him the time, still she refused to acknowledge it and simply marched on. Referring to her monitor, she spoke firmly.

“Oprah’s your next major item.”

Somehow, _somehow,_ he wasn’t simply lowering his forehead to her desk and keeping it there.

“You’ll need to speak to both Lamda and Equality USA beforehand,” she launched. “Both groups having asked since last year to properly brief you as you know. Cover questions she’ll ask. The idea is just to prep you with informed answers. While it’s not expected that you carry the entire cause on your shoulders, it’s expected that you at least sound versed. You can get that, right?”

—

Why the hell Darren was calling him was beyond him.

Seated at his desk, distilling reports, he stared in disbelief at the fading light on his phone’s screen.

His life had gotten so full of drama this last year that it hardly seemed realistic. He used to date, break up and move on. At most he’d get an uncalled for remark at an event where he crossed paths with an ex. But mostly it had always been cordial. Everybody moving on. After all, they still had to all see each other at functions.

But for someone with whom he’d been in relationship so many years ago, and who’d been perfectly happy spending last summer acting cocky for no intelligent reason, and then got his ass beat for it, Darren was proving to be unbelievably silly.

Most annoyingly, as the screen’s light faded and stayed dark, Darren was refusing to simply text whatever exactly his problem was. By Darren’s own logic, Darren had already congratulated him on his engagement in his men’s room maneuver a few weeks back. Had already told his mother that he still felt in love with him. Which was so laughable because they’d never been in love in the first place. But okay. Taken all together, Darren had colored in his pretty picture and had gotten the obligatory _That’s nice, Darren,_ from everyone.

So what the hell else did Darren want?

—

“I think you’ll do fine with Oprah,” Kara said, nodding her head hopefully.

Yeah, he was still there, listening to this.

“As long as you’re prepped. As I said, hers is more formal and less personal than Stern’s, of course, but she’ll still want you to place your personal experience in the wider landscape. Remember she wanted to wait until one year after your coming out before interviewing you, so she’ll expect you to be ready.”

He nodded. “Sure, yeah, I get that...”

He’d spoken vaguely, surprised he wasn’t in fact face-planted on her desk.

At this point he was sorely tempted to ask if he couldn’t just cancel his entire offseason. Because he was reading emails about how his colleagues were spending their summer and guys were out there having the time of their lives, taking their wives to fucking Rio and Johannesburg, their kids to Disney World. So how had he, in the summer leading up to his _wedding,_ gotten roped into the most scheduled offseason of all time? Where had he fucked up on this? He really deserved to be having this kind of offseason, this year of all years?

_I’m getting married, for fuck’s sake!_ he wanted to cry happily at her. _What the fuck am I doing sitting here talking about homework and class with Oprah??_

“They’ve let us know she’s really looking forward to it.”

Tightening his lips, he nodded.

“Hey, you know,” she said suddenly, excitedly. “I bet Holden could help here. What am I saying, of course he could. Why not talk to him about this? Better yet, ask him to join us for the meetings. We can get his thoughts while we’re all in the room. That’s totally something he’d do, and with him there you might actually enjoy the process. Because frankly, Sean, I’ve been worried that you’re not getting the seriousness of this.”

“No, I get it…”

“I hope so, because…”

She said some more stuff. Mostly about how Holden got the seriousness of it. And he kept nodding, his gaze steady on her, with no intention whatsoever of asking Holden to get involved. One full year after the Family Research Council fight, watching her still exciting herself with thoughts of Holden one day joining her to manage his public image. As if Holden had nothing better to do.

Which was entirely aside from the scary thought of what Holden might get up to with that kind of encouragement.

Even if Holden ever considered it though, he couldn’t support the intrusion into Holden’s life and work. Yeah the interviews were important, he supposed, but he was still suffering from guilt over Holden handling the Johnston city council headache in his absence. Specifically, while he and Davey had blown the early evening cranking The Prodigy on the Wrangler’s brand new JL subwoofers and tearing through Iowa’s fields from town to Ames. No way was he adding to that guilt. Either he’d sit through the meetings or he’d pass on them and figure something else out. There was plenty of literature he could unearth to prep him. Or he’d check YouTube or something.

“Okay, great,” she said, apparently happy with wherever her thoughts had led her. “So that’s done. What’s your schedule for the rest of the day?”

Aware of this new and not very subtle way of keeping him on track, he sat forward, ready for her.

Gravely, he said, “I gotta get to Harry Winston this afternoon. I have an appointment to look at wedding rings.”

It worked like a charm.

Eyes widening, body nearly frozen, she unconsciously sat up straighter.

“Okay, okay—” she said, turning to her monitor, scrutinizing it, nodding. “Yeah, we’re good. Nothing else of immediate importance for now. I won’t take up any more of your time.”

He nodded his thanks.

Slowly standing up, he pulled in his chair with his foot, assuring her that Friday it was on the Pateks.

At the door, he stopped and looked back at her.

“You got your dress?”

She instantly seemed to collapse mentally. Her rigid frame weakened, she splayed both hands.

“No, _no,_ and I _should_ have by now. I even an app that alerts me every time something potential comes up. But I’ve been so worried about not getting it right. Because how often does one get invited to one of these weddings that ends up on the cover of Vanity Fair, with half the world’s billionaires and their diamond wearing wives sitting around you? That’ll end up in super high definition all over the internet. Believe me, you do _not_ want to end up looking like the distant cousin who got invited out of obligation. It’s _unbelievable_ pressure. Plus, it’s an evening wedding. In Andalusian Spain, did I mention. Being hosted by Cecelia and Alastair Wilson. For their gay son, who’s marrying the first NFL player, who also happens to be a star quarterback, to come as gay. I know you don’t care about these things, Sean, but…that is pretty much everything.”

She stopped and caught a huge breath. Then cast him a grim look. “Forget worrying about being superficial, you gotta look perfect.”

He slowly nodded, having been lost way back, but maintaining an interested look.

“Moore got his?”

“Of course. What’s there to think about in a tux?”

He grinned. His thoughts exactly. And he’d bet good money Paula had long since secured her finery.

Then as if to put a fine point on the things that did matter, his phone dinged. He checked it to see a notification about his appointment in twenty minutes with the “circle of love.”

He smirked at his own clever phrasing.

“You’ll be good, Kar,” he told her, slipping the phone back into his jeans. “Just remember, you look good in chiffon.”

She stared blanked at him.

“You know what chiffon is?”

He gave her an affronted look. Then smirked and made his exit.

—

For over a year now, he’d been having a secret love affair with Harry Winston. Ever since the company had sourced him an engagement ring for Holden at very short notice. Since then, the company had been sending him email “wedding digests” that were like a drug to him. Information on stones, metals, cut and craft, retold as sweet little stories that had him reading every word.

Last year while the going had been good, he’d been reading them off and on, getting to know about the processes behind items they would own for life and which meant so very much to him. Since returning from Johnston he’d resumed reading, and on the flight back from Miami with Holden sitting across from him like a nervous work of art, the reading had been especially satisfying.

Holden must have been getting the emails as well, but from day one there had been a sustained deafening silence from Holden’s end. And after Holden’s lackluster reaction to the rings task at their planning dinner, it was now apparently official policy.

But for him, it had been with a great deal of pleasure to finally pencil in “Harry Winston” in the space reserved for wedding ring vendors, and to now finally be attending the main event. If his buddy Lino, who had all the patience of a water slide, could get mafia on wedding planning, then he was about to become the John Gotti of wedding rings.

At the storefront on Rodeo Drive, he got out at valet noticing a couple of things. One was his still present bodyguard shadow, pulled up at the end of the street.

Two was TMZ. They were still following him around, for God only knew what reason. And it had started giving him a funny sensation.

But taking his ticket from valet, he chose to ignore them. Because today was officially scheduled to be among the best days of his offseason.

And Harry Winston was ready for him. A manager greeted him in the lobby, shaking his hand and telling him what a pleasure it was to finally meet him, introducing himself as Aaron and handing him a card. Aaron had been the one overseeing the email campaign. A guy named Jeff had been the manager who’d worked with him on Holden’s engagement ring, but one of the emails had mentioned a transfer. He asked about that and set Aaron laughing.

“Sean, didn’t anyone tell you? Jeff got a promotion because of you! Your engagement ring for Mr. Wilson which Jeff helped you with was lightning in a bottle!”

He chuckled. “You’re telling me.”

Aaron laughed. “Well, it worked over here as well. The company experienced a major bump in sales to _women_ for their _guys._ We hardly ever sold engagement rings to women! But sales went through the roof when pictures of him wearing it hit the internet. So Jeff scored himself a huge promotion off that and now he’s in charge of our flagship salon in Hong Kong. Didn’t you get an email? A thank you was sent.”

“I did, actually. I just didn’t get a chance to read it.”

He’d only read the subject line as far as he could remember… 

“Not to worry. I’m here to take such good care of you, I’m afraid you won’t even remember a Jeff when we’re through.” At his smile, Aaron said, “Will Mr. Wilson be joining us this morning?”

He tugged on the brim of his Padres hat and hid an urge to grin.

“Maybe later.”

Aaron nodded. They’d reached a black and white harlequin tiled area of the store, a circular foyer off which gleaming black doors stood. A section he had pretty good memories of.

Indicating a door, Aaron opened it, ushering him into a private room.

The room was as he remembered, a velvet topped table at its center, a couple of chairs on either side of it. Wingback chairs with small side tables in the corners.

It was warmly lit, but small spotlights shone onto the black velvet tabletops, and already on the center one were slates with glittering stones and glinting metals. To one side of the slates was a neat stack of glossy white cards imprinted with high definition images.

He was having to hold back a smile.

Aaron asked him if he wanted anything to drink. He shook his head, told him he was good to go, and they sat.

And while Aaron did the orientation, familiarizing him to the setup, he spent the time just taking it all in.

It was amazing.

This was his life now.

Fifteen months ago, he’d been in a hole. Now he was looking at wedding rings for the beautiful guy he’d met at the party, the one who’d barley noticed his existence, only to smile and subtly change his life. If the last year sometimes felt like a lifetime, this was why. It was humbling and transporting. 

That said, he’d also been there for the definitely humbling and not so transporting parts, so he planned on staying grounded and getting this done.

Aaron finished, asking if he was ready to proceed. He sat forward.

And in a short while, he was heart-deep in it. Like Jeff, Aaron knew his stuff. His major concern had been their differing engagement ring styles, which even with the emails being tailored to them as a gay couple, he still wanted clarification on. Aaron now explained their options. They could opt for wedding rings to complement each of their designs, a great option for partners who each wished to maintain an “independence of spirit.” The alternative being that they could have their rings altered to create a unitary wedding ring style.

He nodded, showing no reaction beyond that. One guess what Holden’s choice would be. Whereas he loved the idea of a unitary style.

Both options, however, offered a myriad of choices. And most importantly, a process of narrowing down that was involved and required more than one visit. Which was perfect and meant he might ultimately convince Holden to come sit at the table with him and look at these things. If that happened he’d absolutely send Aaron off for something to drink so he could have Holden and him alone with the stones and rings. And then, whether Holden admitted it or not, being alone together in this room and him getting to ask, “What do you think?” would qualify as one of the most romantic things to ever happen to them.

Then sudden, Aaron asked whether he’d be looking at wedding presents for Holden that morning as well, and whether he should cue those displays.

Surprised by the question, he looked up from the slates.

“I’m supposed to give him a present?”

Aaron stilled, a stunned look on his face. Then he blinked, covering it.

“Uh, well, it’s traditional that the partners give each other a gift for their wedding...”

“Oh, right…”

Had he known that?

Their master checklist included a section for wedding gifts, but he’d presumed that was the package guests got at the reception. And since they hadn’t discussed it, that it would be something Soirée would handle.

He sure as hell hadn’t contemplated giving Holden some object, when he was planning on gifting the hell out of himself on their wedding night.

“Right,” he said again, covering as well. “But jewelry?” 

“Sure. Cuff links? A silver bracelet with an inscription? A unique tie bar? Our options are phenomenal.”

He raised an interested eyebrow.

“And what about his parents?” Aaron asked. “And your groomsmen?”

“We both have just best men,” he said slowly. “But his parents… yeah…”

Aaron smiled, pointing at the table. Told him to continue doing that while he went for some displays.

He thanked him, watching him leave and close the door behind him, hardly believing he’d almost dropped the ball on wedding gifts. The jury was still out on Alastair and Cecelia, but not for Davey. He sure as fuck wasn’t planning on giving Davey any jewelry unless he didn’t mind spending the rest of his days deleting dippy, inappropriate, homoerotic texts. If he gave Davey a piece of jewelry, he wouldn’t put it past the guy to set a yearly remainder to commemorate by sending him a text.

Whereas he was seriously wondering whether he could get Holden to wear a bracelet, even one with an inscription from him. Or should he say, especially one with an inscription from him. Something big and thick that would sit, warm and heavy, all day on his pulse and read: _For a good time call Sean Jackson._

He smirked. That would be hot as fuck.

But probably not likely as he could already see the side-eye Holden would give on receiving such a gift. It was one thing for Holden to get himself a Chargers’ T-shirt, another entirely for him to do it for him. Marriage or no, he still knew his guy.

He looked at the spread of rings on the table. And realized that this moment needed to go with a little TLC. Just because Holden wasn’t physically there didn’t mean he couldn’t bring the moment to Holden.

And in fact, he hadn’t done any inappropriate communicating of his own in at least a couple weeks.

So sitting back, he pulled out his phone, and with the stones scattered across his vision, unlocked it phone and tapped on Holden’s number.

“Hey, you,” Holden said.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said softly. And then he couldn’t really think of anything to say. Not anything that would feel better than simply hearing his voice. And knowing this was all real.

“Did you call the wrong Wilson?” Holden asked. “Were you trying to reach your actual fiancé? Check under A. I’m sure he’s sitting in his office as well wondering why you haven’t called.”

He smiled to himself. “I’ll do that.”

“Okay, but if he asks, you haven’t seen me in months.”

He snorted. He needed him so much.

“Tell me you love me,” he murmured.

“I love you, Sean Jackson.”

He nearly lost his breath. It was that easy now.

“You know, we should get married.”

He felt him smiling. “I’ll think about it.”

“Tell me you wanna—”

“Get back to work? How astute of you.”

He sat lower in the chair, lowered his voice. “Tell me you wanna spread me and fuck me on your grandfather’s desk.”

“No- Sean—” Holden’s phone suddenly clattered like an explosion in his ear. Then it clattered some more and then Holden was back on the line, whispering fiercely. “We’re _not_ having phone sex in the middle of the workday. Stop it— I’m gonna go back to work now. Bye.” 

And Holden disconnected.

Startled, he pulled his phone back. And staring at it, he started laughing. And wasn’t at all surprised when a text immediately came in.

_Damn it Sean, it takes a good half hour to come down from these phone calls!_

He texted him back: _That’s because you’re fighting it._

Holden didn’t send him a reply. Not even one of those goofy smiley faces he sent when conceding. And that kind of surprised him, making him think he might have hit a real deal hotspot.

And he sat there for a minute, rereading their messages and exciting himself imagining Holden behind that polished desk with its fine oak grain, his straightjacket business suit feeling slightly tighter, a warm, swollen erection distracting him from working. Wayward visuals interfering with him reading identical endless reports.

And so, because it was his offseason and this was exactly how he’d always dreamt of spending it, he taped on Holden’s number again, this time entering the code to take him to voicemail.

He left him a detailed, minute long alternative to the office scenario, acknowledging that he remembered now that he’d said there was to be no funny business in his office ever, so he’d take a recreation in his study later that night.

“I’m taking requests for any speciality wear I should be lining up,” he added, not knowing how he wasn’t laughing. “I just got a couple of stuff sent in from sponsors, and well, maybe I need your expertise…”

Aaron returned just then, small glass-encased trays stacked into his side. He muttered into the phone that he’d just been saved by the bell and that he couldn’t wait to see him tonight. Aaron had just arranged the trays on the table and sat back down when Holden’s texted reply came in. It was a smiley face. Plain and as unsexy as anything. But he could see the real smile behind it and it was melting him.

Aaron once more picked up his loupe, and he sat forward to continue his outstanding morning.

*


	2. Chapter 2

_Good lord,_ he couldn’t help thinking, scrolling the email Harry Winston had just sent.

He was clearing his notifications while waiting for his tailor Mr. Lazarov to become free and had come across an email thanking them for their visit that morning. And a reiteration of Harry Winston’s appreciation for having been selected to provide their wedding rings.

His amazement was at the mass of effusive words over the “privilege” of having been chosen. Descriptions of the “delicate and exceptional service” they could expect and promises of their rings not only being “unique,” but “exquisitely enrapturing,” _Creations of truly life-reorienting beauty, handcrafted to be eternally fulfilling, bringing years of..._ on and on, and actual magic, basically.

Sean must have taken them up on scheduling a viewing and gone visiting that morning. But had Sean gone ahead with a wedding ceremony while there though? And he was going to laugh himself under the table later on or just be incredibly embarrassed for Sean, but it seemed that being there had been the cause of Sean’s horny phone call. Sean had gone shopping for wedding rings and had gotten turned on. Like other people watched porn and got turned on. Who was actually wired this way?

And ask him how wedding rings, round and usually gold or platinum, warranted this much involvement. It wasn’t even like an engagement ring, which required thought to reflect personality. These were literally just metal circles. Reading the follow up email made him want to interrogate the company’s marketing VP and find out why they’d sign off on inflicting such a combination of words on the world.

At this point, he was sure that being a romantic secretly meant you just liked doing things that would make other people ask questions of you.

Hoping the episode had resolved favorably for Sean, he marked the email as done and watched it disappear from his inbox.

He meanwhile was on actual serious wedding business. Having grabbed a quick tuna wrap from his and Elliot’s favorite deli in Beverly Hills—which had weirdly made him miss Elliot as if he was missing something more profound, like a strange spiraling sensation he didn’t know what to make of—he was currently sitting in his most fail-proof tailor’s waiting room, waiting on the practical work of clothing.

With just forty minutes before he had to return to the office, unlike Sean’s leisurely turn at Harry Winston, he was there to go over his and Elliot’s decisions about his wardrobe for the week in Spain. Sean’s disdain for the hoopla over _”just choosing a black tux”_ had merely left him shaking his head. With just about ten weeks to go, Sean had no idea the amount of work he was about to face over clothing for that week. Especially because Davey was in fact interested in looking good for the Vanity Fair photo spreads. Those two had an interesting weekend in England ahead of them.

“Holden.”

Looking up from his phone, he blanked completely at the man standing before him

Standing wide-eyed before him, he should say. He was looking at an American Express concierge service manager he’d once dated.

“Hi,” he said softly.

“It’s Foley,” Foley said, standing in the middle of the small waiting room, staring as if at the impossible.

“I know,” he said, a little defensively.

It was just the two of them. Though it had been just him a second ago. And for some reason, he was finding it hard to look Foley in the face. He lowered his head.

Foley slowly approached until he was sitting in the chair beside him, a small side table between them.

“Holden, it’s so good to see you.”

“Oh, thanks.” And after searching for the right thing to say, he said, “You too.”

Searching for the right thing to say? What was happening to him?

Foley had settled in, looking dead center at him. And he stole a look to see him looking strangely… Well, guilty wasn’t the word. But there seemed something about him as if…they should both be aware of something he definitely wasn’t.

“Holden, how come you don’t call anyone anymore? With Sean out I thought— I mean, we thought— I’m not trying to be presumptive or anything, it’s just… It’s not like you to not be around. It’s been since…Christmas, maybe? Since I’ve seen you?”

And Foley hadn’t so much as blinked. Now his eyes briefly swept him. “You look really good.”

Finding it hard to respond, he simply nodded, barely able to whisper a thanks. Doing what he could to not appear as momentarily lost as he was suddenly feeling.

Because he had suddenly realized why he was finding it hard to look an ex in the face.

This was the cause of Sean’s sorrow.

All of them. Foley, Stuart, Joel, all of them. What he’d so dearly learned in Johnston.

Before now, it had been abstract. Now, all he saw when he looked at Foley was Sean’s tension and anger. Whatever it was that had made Sean lose faith in him.

It was through no fault of Foley’s, he knew it. Nevertheless he could barely stand to look directly at him. And it wasn’t something he’d come prepared to experience in his tailor’s waiting room.

“If you ever need to talk, Holden,” Foley said softly, staring close. “Nothing has changed on my end. You should know that.”

“Th-thanks…” he said politely.

“Mr. Wilson?”

At the entrance to Mr. Lazarov’s workshop was a young man with the same Eastern European accent as the tailor. The apprentice was smiling at him. “We’re ready for you, sir.”

He sent Foley a last look, and did it quickly, because a lingering moment more and his rude awakening would show, and knowing his luck, be misread.

“Nice to see you again, Foley,” he said, getting up. And then somehow, knocked hard into the side table.

Having quickly stood up with him, Foley reached down and steadied it. And straightening, stood very close to him.

Staring at him.

He told him it was nice to see him again, which his brain told him was him on repeat, and managed to get from there to the workshop entrance without bumping into anything else. Passing the assistant who was smiling and ushering him in. He entered, not looking back.

—

It was afternoon, and he was in the Palisades, getting to a favorite bakery before he returned to Malibu to work on his wedding tasks. Today was looking at color-coded wedding tuxes. Or whatever that was. But before that, he was stocking up on cupcake supplies.

Back when Holden had been burning up over his dad after their night on Ben Hanan’s boat, he’d bake him cupcakes decorated with the face of a bawling baby boy and leave them in the fridge. Holden had never remarked on the things except to stand at the microwave warming them until the chocolate melted, then eating them in equal silence. But he didn’t doubt that the cupcakes had helped them both cope. Now he wanted to give him cupcakes with gold rings decorating them. Excite him in the conjugal way. It would definitely get a rise out of Holden.

As he got out of his Navigator after parking at a meter, TMZ’s Audi cruised by.

And for the first time in the year that they’d been tailing him, one of the reporters in the car raised a hand and gave him a small, slow motion, five fingered wave.

It stopped him in the act of closing the driver’s door.

And after loading the meter, looking back at the departing Audi.

Okay… He’d admit that had kind of freaked him out. Especially because, he’d been thinking about it that morning, and based on the kind of stories they’d been publishing, Holden giving him a ring and all that, things anyone could find on Facebook, they had no reason to be trailing him like this.

Initially when he’d come out, their interest had been about catching him with whomever he might be sleeping with. Which must have frustrated them because Holden had right before broken it off. There’d been no traffic of the kind they wanted for weeks. It had left them discovering his relationship with Holden the same time everyone else—on CNN at the Glaad Awards.

Since then he couldn’t fathom their interest. Interest which had extended to them showing up at his tea with Cecelia a couple months back. Crazy if you asked him.

But at the bakery entrance, he put it out of his mind.

It was a bright, sunny late April afternoon, two months to his wedding, and absolutely everything was right with his world.

—

Late in the afternoon, back at the office after the Foley thing, when he got some free time he went into his personal mailbox.

He’d turned off messages to his Facebook account some time back, realizing it had reached the point. His LinkedIn was still there, but those messages tended to remain professional.

Texts to his phone tended to be brief, and generally he had no problem with that. But the emails were different. With emails, his exes took their time.

Because, apparently, after mere weeks of dating and maybe a whole month in some cases, there was just that much unexpressed emotion to be communicated. Enough to warrant entire emails. These men with whom he’d so superficially shared his private life. And who’d played the same game where everyone knew the rules, none of which had been invented by him.

But suddenly, he was the flagrant offender.

He had no idea why he was bothering reading them, and had contemplated blocking them too. A year ago he would have without a second thought. But for whatever reason, he still hadn’t.

That afternoon he was reading because of Foley.

Because Foley had looked at and spoken to him as if they were in a scene from Casablanca. Because it had brought up memories of Stuart from a few weeks back. And he’d been left wondering whether he’d misplaced some important memory.

But weeks later, he still found them surprising and confusing. Weeks later, almost all of them still referring to the ring he’d given Sean. Like he’d done it while being held as a hostage. Hard as it still was to believe, it really had been the moment they’d accepted that his engagement was real.

And, apparently, needed to do something about it.

Some of the emails said much more than that.

Reading them, he always meant to do so at a distance. Because the person reading now and the person being described, and in so many ways being queried, were two different people. Emotionally, experientially, sexually.

But he wasn’t always successful in keeping that distance. So that reading sometimes brought back memories he no longer wished to revisit, and left him feeling that there was a space between then and now he was willfully ignoring.

But honestly, he didn’t know what he was supposed to be seeing. What reprimand these emails were supposed to be delivering when he had never promised anyone anything.

And ultimately, he didn’t care. He only knew what Sean was seeing in that space.

So that when he was done skimming them, usually, he just deleted.

—

Thanks to Rachel having implemented his new schedule, that evening he got home early to his condo to find Sean seated in his living room, his phone’s earpiece on. Phone in his lap, flushed and laughing his ass off. ESPN’s psycho graphics flaring mutely in the background on his TV.

Sean’s transported smile and his grunted, fragmented, homespun responses could only mean one thing. Sean’s other husband was on the line.

He went over and pressed a kiss into his beard, hearing Davey going strong over the connection, and shook his head when Sean indicated whether he should get off the call.

Leaving his brief and everything else on the floor somewhere, he went straight into the kitchen where sweet baked smells were calling his name, sending up a thanks when he saw the row of chocolate cupcakes. And on closer inspection, saw that each cupcake was adorned with two interlocking gold rings. _Wow,_ he thought to himself. Simply nothing was cheesier than a romantic.

But, he supposed no one could have it all. Be gorgeous and a saint and athletically gifted…but…also…be really into corny romantic stuff.

Placing a couple of the cupcakes onto a side plate, which Sean had very thoughtfully left out by the tray, he placed the tray into the microwave and pushed the ten-second timer. Listened to its quiet heatsong, while listening to Sean howling and growling in the living room.

This was his life now. _Sinfully_ perfect. And even if he tried, he couldn’t recall a single sentence from any text or email.

*

The following evening, pulling up to a very busy valet at Musso & Frank Grill for the Thurgood Club fundraiser, his decision was set in stone. It wasn’t going to be easy getting Elliot or Petey to back down, still he planned on standing his ground. Soon it would all be over and everyone could get back to focusing on the actual pressing things. Like Mr. Lazarov having very politely poo-poo’d half of his and Elliot’s decisions. Probably just from a feeling of artistic and professional slight for not having been initially consulted, but still. Things like that had to take priority over whether Sean would be hanging out with them this summer. Taking his ticket form valet, he thought so anyway.

The Thurgood Club was an African American run charity that funded legal fees for civil rights causes. The organizers were mostly lawyers, and the event, usually taking place in the VIP section of the same restaurant in Hollywood each year, was always boisterous. Tonight was no exception. The place was already jammed with happy, shouting lawyers—besides school teachers and Hollywood agents he didn’t know another profession that partied harder—waving and calling to each other as he squeezed by. He’d received a text from Petey that they were set up in the back garden. Making his way there however proved a little odder than usual.

Usually there’d be lots of wild, grabby hellos. It was great, why they all attended. They got to know each other in a low pressure setting and felt part of a wider community. He’d get plenty of hugs from the organizers who would swarm whenever he arrived, sometimes making him feel like his dad. This time, however, it seemed that every hello was accompanied by the speaker peering wide-eyed over his shoulder and going, “Is Sean here?”

He actually began wondering at the sudden interest, whether he’d missed something over the weekend. But it was still just spiked interest over the ring-giving pictures from the ACLU dinner.

Slightly less weird, was inadvertently making eye contact with another ex of his, just as he was about clearing the patio doors.

Lachlan’s locked stare was intense, and to him completely unnecessary, so he just ignored him and stepped out into the cool night air. Immediately Petey waved at him over from across the garden, where he and Elliot had secured a high table against an ivy covered wall. But on taking another step, he was waylaid by Vicky, one of the organizers.

“Holden, where is Sean! Where is he?” she cried. “Why are you hiding him from us? How can he not be here donating to our cause? What the hell does he _do_ with all that money he makes?”

He was laughing with her, returning hugs and kisses. She then stood back and shook her head at him, the two of them being pressed together on all sides by drinking, shouting lawyers.

“Wait, did you send him an invite?” he asked her. “And he blew you off? That’s unacceptable, I should call him right now.”

“God, the nerve on you! You know I was at the fundraiser where you two met? I totally was!”

“Vicky, I was there, I remember.”

“Right! And I _swear_ had I made the introductions, I’d demand a thirty percent cut for _life_!”

“His agent, Paula, would _murder_ you.”

They were both laughing and having to hold on to each other around the pushing crowd, so that when an arm suddenly slipped between them, wrapping itself around his waist, it was very noticeable.

Both he and Vicky turned in surprise to find Lachlan pressing into his side, too close for him to avoid getting kissed on the face.

“Ooh,” Vicky, who knew Lachlan, said. “The cat’s away... and _I’m_ away. See ya, Holden. Be good.”

And she was gone, leaving him suddenly alone and astounded. Lachlan, aware he’d managed the only thing he’d get away with that night, removed his arm and moved in front of him.

“Don’t _you_ look like dinner.”

He turned up both hands at Lachlan, waiting to see which of them had lost their mind, and Lachlan’s smile turned into a smirk.

“Always loved your attitude. I only wanted to say hello to the mysterious Sean Jackson. Be among the lucky few to see the ring live and in the flesh. But…” and here Lachlan made a show of looking past him toward the restaurant’s entrance which wasn’t visible from there. “I see he’s still missing from all this action.”

Lachlan then brought his gaze back to him, smirked some more like he’d just pulled off the comeback of the century, and finally walked away. He continued toward Elliot and Petey, pretending when he reached them that he wasn’t seeing their pointed stares.

“So _that_ happened,” Petey said.

“Yeah,” he replied dryly. “The only thing missing to make the moment perfect was Sean.”

A server appeared and replenished their table’s supply of finger foods, an assortment of tasty if unlikely pairings of meats and fruits, while Petey lifted a martini from a passing tray and handed it to him. Thanking him, he moved over to Petey’s side, Elliot in front of them.

With the party raging around them, Elliot repeatedly returned greetings from fellow lawyers passing and calling to him while casually sipping from his tumbler of amber liquid.

“Hey, you,” he said to Elliot. “Still happy at Swelter, Haan? These party people would love to have you.”

Elliot slid him a look, and instead of responding said, “Here to figure things out?”

“Nah, not tonight. I’d forgotten how crazy it gets here. Let’s have dinner at your place this week and we can talk. It’s been a while since you made us sushi.”

Elliot didn’t reply.

Petey was the one looking at him with concern.

“Holden, this is not good. You know, right, that Cecelia spoke to my boss at a reception last week? No one loves Cecelia more than me but even I know that to be bad news.”

“My mother’s talking to Geffen about this?”

“What’d you think? Everyone’s concerned about you and Sean’s inability to officially take your relationship public.”

“We’re getting married, Petey. It doesn’t get more official, or more public, than that.”

“Holden,” Petey said exasperatedly. “You know what I mean. You’re insisting on acting like Sean’s coming out isn’t among the biggest thing to happen this decade. And it’s gonna bite you in the ass. I’m in disbelief over your attitude. This was supposed to be the summer you two would be all over the events circuit. It’s not just Vicky looking for you two to appear together, the entire philanthropy and nonprofit world is.”

“It’ll happen,” he insisted.

“Well, it should have. You should have accomplished a ton of fundraising together by now, raised a ton of profiles. Why am I having to tell you this? Are you really burying your head in the sand just because you can’t deal with the realities of your private life?”

“Come on, Petey,” he said lowering his voice, not even wanting to be talking about it. “And what reality is that? The one in which I’m not beholden to men I just happened to once date?”

“No,” Petey said, indulgently. “Essentially, the one in which you’re trying to get married without first getting rid of your ex-boyfriends.”

“They’re _ex-_ boyfriends, Petey. I don’t have to get rid of them any more than that.”

“Holden, think again. We didn’t need a demonstration from Lachlan, or for asshole Joel Kresner to pull a move on Sean. We’re getting the texts. You’re leaving stunned, confused, and very hostile men in your wake. You know this.”

“You know what, Petey, I don’t want to talk about this. Not here.”

“So… what are you gonna tell us at Elliot’s? That you’re okay ignoring your responsibilities? This isn’t you, Holden.”

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, meeting Petey’s gaze and nodding assuringly. Avoiding Elliot’s. “I promise.”

“Holden, you sound like a broken record.”

“Okay, you wanna hear what I have to say?” he whispered. “Here’s what I think. I think it’s better that we let things blow over.” Discreetly, he pointed in the direction Lachlan had gone. “They’re just acting crazy because it’s so new to them. So we don’t play into it. We’ll be able to deal with intrusions better once Sean is gone. With Sean back on the road, handling Joel or Lachlan or whomever will be familiar territory for us. Having to drag Sean through this— it doesn’t make sense.”

“How can you talk about dealing with personal intrusions after Sean is gone as familiar territory when you’ll be married at that point? There is nothing familiar about that to any of us. What kind of friends would we be if we even let you leave here believing that?”

He just shook his head, out of arguments. 

Petey waved a hand at the crowded restaurant. “And all of this? You’re among the most well known philanthropists in LA. You’re now part of a gay celebrity couple. And you’re not concerned at all about failing here.”

“I’m not failing. Sean and I will have the rest of our lives to make it up to Vicky and everyone else.”

Deeply, heavily, Petey sighed. And when he spoke again, looked hurt and frustrated.

“Holden, I want you to know I’m very upset by this. This isn’t how I saw this summer going at all. And it’s extremely disappointing coming from you. Part of the reason I fell so platonically in love with you was because of how cogently you handle things. Instead you’re behaving now as if you live in magic land. Wish hard enough and it all just works out. Well, none of this is going away without putting work into it. Why is this hard for you to understand?”

“He understands perfectly well,” Elliot said.

And that stopped their conversation.

Eventually, he spoke up.

“Petey, you have nothing to worry about,” he said defensively. “And I’m making sure you’re covered with your boss. We’re still doing his engagement party.”

“It’s not just that… That’s not what David is worried about...”

“I promise, Petey. This week.”

Petey sighed again, shook his head.

“It’s okay,” he maintained gently. “I know what I’m doing.”

But Petey just wordlessly waved himself down another martini. But that was all any of them said on the topic for the rest of the night.

Satisfied that he’d accomplished his own mandate, and continuing to avoid Elliot’s knowing gaze, he reached over his martini glass and began sampling the food offerings.

*

So draft opening day was coming up, and Kara had informed him that this year some sports bar wanted him and a couple guys from the team to host the night. Which had kind of surprised him. Usually, it was just an afternoon rooftop at Paula’s offices for him and whomever else she’d invited, sipping alcohol and fresh juice mix and watching the hype unfold, listening to her ragging on team managements across the board. He’d always considered it a pretty good way to spend opening day on an occasion in the league that was otherwise just a whole lot of noisy. Seeing as the most he could hope for was that the coaches had heard his private complaints throughout the season about wasted opportunities and had informed both owners and management of what he felt might be hampering their defense. At offense, he was able to see how and where their guys got hammered. But it wasn’t something he could mention in the locker room without affecting morale. His job was to unite the team, not tear it apart. So privately it was. And the most he got out of the day was seeing whether any of his observations had maybe factored in.

Watching with Paula last year, after assuring her he’d laid out his complaints just as she’d advised, Paula had repeatedly given him the funniest looks. Not funny haha, more like the “huh” one. He’d pretended not to see but had known what she was thinking. He’d just come out and she’d probably been wondering who among the coaches, reporters, and whomever else he might have slept with. He knew her well enough to know it was exactly what she was thinking. Truthfully, watching had given him a strange feeling in that sense as well. Less than two months after his coming out, it had been strange to see how the world worked and looked from this side of it, with no immediate pressure to think and move carefully. Frankly, it had seemed even nosier.

So this year, he was standing inside a bar in East L.A., a bunch of hardcore fan, native Californian Hispanics tripping at his presence. Even on a Wednesday afternoon the bar was reasonably filled, the owner, a Guatemalan lesbian named Santa Maria, who winked when she said her name and made him grin a little, was telling him they had an acquaintance in common. Turned out she was close friends with another lesbian he’d met last year in Bel Air, the offspring of a wealthy banking family he remembered perfectly well. Elise, who’d been into football and reminded him of his sister. And whom when he’d been feeling down over Holden he’d hung out with, specifically because of that.

Shit-proof mutual-friend credentials established, he’d told her, he felt okay committing to the venture. That got her laughing. Cassie and Vance from the team were to be up from San Diego within the hour, check in with the Association offices once they got into town before heading his way. That was all he was now waiting for.

He’d just gotten off the phone with them and was settled on a table near the open doors, signing autographs, when his phone buzzed again. Thinking it was one of them calling back, he pulled out his phone and sat there staring incomprehensibly at a text from Davey.

_Hey, I’m around if you want to talk._

At first he thought he was somehow looking at the text Davey had sent the night before when they’d talked. But that had been differently worded. To make sure, he scrolled up and saw that text. So what was this one for? A mistake? Not meant for him?

While he stared at it, the sunlight around him seemed to dim a little. And he held the phone for a moment longer, getting a strange, unexpected response from his gut. Aware that the light change wasn’t real. Knowing, after too many years of living with a fundamental discomfort, that something concerning his love had taken place. His problems with Holden were the only things that could make the world seem a little dimmer.

Slipping the phone back in to his pocket, he took a quiet breath and forced himself to return to his surroundings. Finish his engagement. He couldn’t bail on his teammates in the middle of them driving two hours to be here. So Davey’s text making his heart twist or not, no checking any more messages until he was through.

—

An hour or so later, outside, all three of them were in front of the bar, finished inside. Hosting opening draft day was a go, Vance and Cassie having liked the place and calling Mark Hawthorne to inform him, and everyone agreeing it would make for a great promotional night for the team.

Vance was now saying he and Cassie were on their way to grab lunch with a colleague from the Seahawks who was also passing through LA, and did he want to come with. Adjusting his sunglasses, he took a moment before answering. He hadn’t checked his phone. But all he was thinking about was Davey’s text.

Davey and Michelle kept up with social news. Especially about him. If whatever it was had been enough to make Davey send that text, it was probably pretty bad.

He did know one thing though. If it really was about Holden, he didn’t want to have Davey be the one to tell him. He didn’t want to put Davey or anyone in his family in a position with Holden in the middle.

Still unsure of what to do, he asked the guys to give him a second and moved toward his Navigator, parked some yards away. There, he pulled out his phone and found himself calling Kara.

Barely believing he was about to ask her about his private life, nevertheless he couldn’t think of anyone else to call.

“Hi, Sean. Hi.”

Well, not good. High strung normally, she was beaming out an added layer of nervousness.

“Something I should know about?” he asked.

“There’s been a publication. And it’s not Forbes or anything. TMZ has an article up about Holden’s former partners.”

The words seemed to race right by him before slowing down, circling back. Slowly lining up in front of him.

“What’re you talking about?” he heard himself asking her.

“The thrust of the article is that, supposedly, your engagement to him is far from a done deal. They’ve got some former boyfriend of his interviewed and a bunch of anonymously sourced quotes.”

He stood staring at the wall of the bar on the street. Mentally blocked.

“Did they call you about it?” he eventually asked her.

“No, they’re a tabloid. Plus, they only publish one point of view at a time. It’s how they keep interest.”

He tightened his jaw. Took a breath.

“All right. Thanks.”

“Sean, there’s something else you should know. We’ve had to screen a lot of messages to your Facebook page recently. Obviously it’s increased just now, but we have it under control. I didn’t it was necessary for you to know before.”

“What kind of messages?”

“Stuff about Holden. Mostly total nonsense, the usual attention seekers.”

He said nothing. Then said, “Thanks, Kar.”

“Do you want me to forward you a copy of the article?”

“Fuck no.”

“Do you want a response to it? I wouldn’t recommend.”

“Not even. Just leave it. It’ll pass. Like everything else.”

He ended the call.

Held his phone. Knowing that if he was feeling bad, Holden had to be feeling worse. So it would have to pass without them.

Fuck, he hoped Holden would let it pass. Because as God was his witness, he couldn’t keep having this conversation.

He took a second and texted Davey that he was good, all was good. Then he returned to his teammates, asking which way to lunch.

—

Emerging from a long morning meeting around noon, he was starved. Starved and looking forward to a clear lunch hour to refresh his brain. At which time he intended to eat, lie on his couch, and catch up on The View. In that order. And if Sean called him during the time, he might even rock his world a little.

His phone, however, had a glitch or something, so he’d have to drop off with Rachel to have IT look at. Texts he’d deleted seemed to be bouncing back from the server, so that his personal account was showing fifty plus messages. Impossible since there’d been just a few before the meeting. Fifty messages in a couple of hours was Howard Stern interview territory.

But Rachel was already gone for lunch when he got to this office, so he took the phone in with him, closing his door, then was standing there staring at it because it was buzzing with a call from...Darren.

Frowning, he declined the call. But before he took another step, a text popped up.

_I’m sorry. I didn’t do this. But we need to talk._

And a link.

And a moment later, because out of sheer bewilderment he’d tapped the link, he was stupefied to be staring a TMZ article. About him.

About him and Darren.

About him, Darren, and a slew of his ex-boyfriends.

His vision and brain somehow disconnected. He was seeing the deep black oversized letters, reading his name but not making any sense of it. But the more he stared at it the more the words coalesced into meaning.

_Holden Wilson’s former longtime partner comes out swinging!_ read the headline.

He read the sentence several times. He had a former longtime partner? Then his thumb moved the screen. To reveal a split three-way collage of him, Sean, and Darren, with Darren’s picture in the middle causing the split.

_There might still be something going on between Sean Jackson’s fiancé Holden Wilson, son of real estate billionaire Alastair Wilson, and his former partner and Stanford business school classmate Darren Moran. The ex-lovers were seen arguing recently at a dinner party in Beverly Hills. Though neither side is spilling, sources with intimate knowledge of the former couple say they were inseparable during their two years together and that Holden’s upcoming wedding might have stirred up old feelings. Holden, it will be remembered, had only just recently given Sean an engagement ring…some say just in time for the wedding! No explanation for the delay - or the sudden need, depending on your point of view - from either side, but the move came after Sean’s interview with Howard Stern caused a firestorm of social media reaction. And after, sources say, Holden might have called it off for a brief time in January. According to those same sources, the interview was seen by Holden’s former boyfriends as a definite “Keep off!” sign from Sean. No word on why that would be necessary. But seems Sean got a ring put on it...just in time! Or maybe not? Stay tuned for updates on this scorching story!_

There were photos of him giving Sean the ring.

Out of context quotes of Sean from Howard Stern’s interview.

Quotes, supposedly, from unnamed former partners of his. A lot of quotes from there.

And quotes from “sources” claiming his family actually wasn’t “all that crazy” about Sean. Including photos of Sean walking into the Beverly Wilshire with a caption about Sean meeting with his mother to “smooth over” rough patches.

And wherever possible, rhetorical questions as to whether he was in fact actually still up for grabs—a signal he was sending by a delayed show of commitment in “handing out” an engagement ring “last minute.”

And all through, there were sprinkled old Getty Images photos of him at events over the years, attending with whomever he was dating at the time.

It was a long article.

It concluded with a question: _Is this just the beginning of Sean’s nuptial problems?!_

He had no idea how long he simply stood there.

—

They’d entered Marina del Rey for lunch. Miller from the Seahawks had sailed with his family on a sixty-meter crewed yacht all the way down from Santa Cruz, on their way down to Newport Beach. It was very cool, the boat anchored in the water off the piers and his wife and kids grabbing ice cream on the boardwalk, while the four of them hugged and found a cafe to do some catching up. They sat outside, not causing much of a stir. Which seemed to surprise Miller until Vance explained that Angelenos liked their celebrities of the movie start variety.

“Explains why Jackson here could run around being gay for six years and nobody cared.”

They all laughed, even though it was total bullshit, and Miller asked him how his wedding plans were coming. He said it was all going great, and got encouragement from him to stick it out, not any pressure around it feel like the thing itself.

“People forget, you wake up the next morning and that’s the marriage. Not that day itself.”

He nodded, appreciative of the support he’d been getting from his colleagues. “Don’t I know it.”

“This is crazy,” Vance said. “I’m still trying to get used to Sean being gay.”

Cassie, who was young, just a few years out of college, as superstar as it got, and reveled in calling everyone older than him “old man,” turned a perplexed look on Vance. “Well, I guess it depends on what you’re thinking being gay is. I can’t even imagine what’s going through your old man mind.”

They were all laughing, this time more subtly, because it always was very funny when the twenty-six-year-olds thought the thirty-six-year-olds were old.

He’d almost forgotten the morning, was almost having a good day, when after about forty minutes his phone began buzzing with a call.

Before lunch he’d set a Do Not Disturb with just a handful of numbers prioritized. One of those numbers was Alastair’s. And now Alastair was calling him.

Excusing himself, he stood from the table and walked a few feet to a railing overlooking the water, past where people were in fact pointing and noticing. He took the call while looking out toward the lovely boats and the calm ocean.

Alastair wasted little time in getting to the point.

“Hi, Sean, how are you? I’d like you to come up please, if you could. Just for an hour or so.”

He stared out at the water. Come “up” always meant Bel Air. Even if Alastair thought he was in Malibu.

“Are you in town?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there within the hour.”

“Thanks.”

At their table, conservation had turned to the draft. Slowly sitting down, he rejoined, picking up the remains of his chili jalapeño chicken sausage, refusing to think beyond their conversation. Soon enough, host city being his, they’d be expecting him to pick up the tab. Then they’d all be saying their goodbyes. After which the nice part of his day would be over.

—

Elliot wasn’t answering anything. Not his calls, nor his text, which had contained just one word, _Urgent._ Beyond that, he was too shaken to call anyone.

Kay had texted, _Hope you’re okay, sweetie._ But he was too embarrassed to call her or anyone in Johnston. How could he, when he couldn’t lie and say he was okay when he wasn’t.

He’d been sitting in the armchair in his office reading and rereading the asinine article for the past twenty minutes, by now thinking he would have spoken to Elliot and they would have determined what he should be doing besides sitting there being consumed by shame and burning shame.

And thinking that he had never once even _seen_ TMZ around him, so where had they gotten all this garbage from?

And meanwhile Darren had called three times.

There was a knock at his office door. Craig opened and walked in.

“Dinner at Elliot’s tonight.”

“He called you?”

“He sent a text. Didn’t you get?”

“No,” he said in exasperation. “I’m trying to reach him.”

There was a pause.

“You talked to Sean?”

He said nothing. Then lowered his head and shook it.

And simply said, “I can’t.”

*


	3. Chapter 3

“Al, I’d rather drink a bottle of laxative.”

Alastair said nothing, just turned and looked at Holden’s best friend.

Elliot was seated on the sofa in Alastair’s library, legs stretched before him and crossed at the ankles, fingers at his temple. An air of patient tolerance about him. The hardass, Alvarez had called him.

Whereas he was mostly in shock.

Or maybe fury was the word.

The faint ticking of the antique clock in the library was all that was audible. Since he’d arrived, its minute hand had been steadily moving to the quarter hour. Which was how he knew that for fifteen minutes he’d been listening to Alastair say something incomprehensible.

Alastair was standing by the picture window, meanwhile, shoulder against the wall. When not looking at either of them, his eyes were mostly contemplatively outside at the motor court, where all three of their cars, and Beau’s, were parked. He seemed mesmerized by the stone water fountain at its center. Considering the topic of conversation, he looked incredibly serene.

A topic which, unless he was having a fully fucked up day, Alastair had just explained was that he needed to be seen out more with Holden.

That it had been “discussed and concluded” that he needed to spend the summer _hanging out with Holden’s ex-boyfriends?_ That this was what Holden’s best friend had come up with as a response to the publication from that morning.

He had to be misunderstanding.

“You know Elliot, I presume?” Alastair had asked when he’d first arrived. “I would hope so, seeing that he’s Holden’s closest friend and best man for your wedding.”

“We’ve met,” he’d said tersely.

“That’s good,” Alastair had said, his eyes on him. “I know Holden can be remiss on particular subjects. Elliot however is family. He can be trusted.”

With that pointed introduction, Alastair had gone into why he’d been called up. Skipping entirely the actual prompt for them all sitting there that afternoon. Not directly discussing his son but only talking around him.

Explaining to him that perception seemed to that his son wasn’t in a relationship that was _quantifiable_ in a recognizable way.

“Not to cast dispersions on you, Sean. I know what you’ve accomplished with my son. It’s just that Holden is from a certain world, one including a focus on philanthropy, and there seems to be a marked lack of transition here. Making things look suspect.”

That was around when he’d started wanting believe he was misunderstanding. But he wasn’t. He still hadn’t read the article, but he wasn’t confused about what was happening.

Not when Alastair had been looking directly at him the entire time, unexpectedly stirring powerful memories of the way Holden would look when conveying information he had no choice but to accept.

Shockingly, the way it used to feel when Holden would stand at the entrance to his penthouse with his hand on his mostly closed door, very subtly preventing him from going in, and assuring him that yes they were broken off for the time being. And no there was no particular reason. He just had to accept it.

Those fucked up sensations were what he’d been picking up on while listening to Alastair deliver this bizarre plan, or decision, or whatever it was.

Well, now Alastair had heard his response. And instead of replying, Alastair had turned to Elliot.

So now, he did as well.

“Why the fuck would I want to do this?”

“Easy, Sean.”

“Well, Al, I’m just trying to understand what’s going on. I’m in touch with Holden, if anyone’s interested, and he’s never mentioned any of this as posing a problem. Why does anyone think he’d be okay with this?”

“Elliot has had a discussion with Holden before now. It’s safe to say that this afternoon puts us in a different territory. This is being put to you at the moment.”

“Over some online article?” he asked coldly.

And because he knew it was the only real card he had to play with Alastair, he repeated it.

“So we’re saying… it’s me or a bunch of nameless guys from a tabloid article.”

Alastair turned to Elliot. “Well?”

Elliot sighed. “It’s not about that.”

From the moment he’d arrived, Elliot had barely looked at him, letting Alastair do most of the talking. As if he’d anticipated his reactions and had no time for them. From the start his answers reeking of impatience because he was the one talking absurdities.

Alastair gave no indication whether or not he agreed with Elliot’s statement. Instead he asked, “And you feel this is the right approach?”

“I can only give you my opinion, Alastair,” Elliot said. “Look. We can let this lie. We don’t have to do a thing to support Holden’s engagement. We can just focus on planning the wedding.” And then Elliot abruptly stopped talking.

Leaving a clear but unspoken _while..._ hanging in the air.

While what, he wanted to ask him. What the fuck did they think was about to happen two months to marriage that he hadn’t already considered? Or lived through?But no credit was to be given to him unless he went around introducing himself to each of Holden’s ex-boyfriends and telling them their ride was over?

What the fuck was this?

And goddamn it, he had never wanted Alastair anywhere near this side of his relationship with Holden. He’d spent a solid year trying to win this man’s respect if nothing else for the simple enough reason that he’d lay off treating his relationship with his son as a running joke. He’d played diplomat and intermediary so that Alastair would start seeing not only him but Holden in a different light. Because he knew that Holden wasn’t perfect. How imperfect, he had never cared to know more than he already did. But even aware of the strain a father could feel when his son didn’t consider him trustworthy on the fundamentals, there were things he’d sleep better knowing Alastair didn’t know.

Which included his reason for leaving in January.

As far as Alastair was concerned, any ex-boyfriend issues had started with Darren Moran pushing him to the wall and finally hitting the wrong button on him last summer, and had ended with Alastair subsequently paying Darren’s hospital bills. He’d wanted to keep it that way.

Instead here he was, talking to Alastair about this very thing, and from a position of absolute weakness. So that while Elliot’s unvoiced statement hung in the air, he stood there feeling exposed. Trying not to feel as if his entire year of effort lay broken around him. And with his gaze occasionally going to Elliot, having to wonder whether this was some kind of late term effort to scuttle something ultimately as irreversible as marriage.

But all those thoughts were still back burner to ones fundamentally gripping him. That on the other side of the library was a man who emotionally affected much more than his son would ever admit. A deal maker who’d made billions by spotting opportunities and weaknesses and closing in on them. _He_ was paid professionally to play it as a game. But for Alastair it wasn’t a game. It was a life philosophy about who was in charge and who were the rest. Alastair would never stand for watching his son being associated with a loser.

And according to this morning’s article, he was a fucking loser.

And that was just what it came down to.

So he was trying, God knew he was trying, to not lose his shit.

Trying to hold back thoughts and opinions and fucking memories of every week he had lived through a in span of three years. _Years_ in which nobody but him had been there holding it together and believing in Holden. He didn’t need anyone telling him a goddamned thing about what he should or shouldn’t be doing with Holden. He hadn’t called anyone about the article, not even Holden. But evidently they’d all called each other and decided how he should be made to deal with it.

He turned back to Alastair.

“Al, I don’t want this. And call it going out on a limb,” he added, unable to warm up his tone, “but I’ll go ahead and say Holden doesn’t want it either. Al, I spent all of last summer attending functions with Holden. And I was having to drive up from San Diego twice a week to get that done. Don’t tell me I don’t know what’s expected in your family.”

“Right now, Sean,” Elliot said. “You’re nothing but a myth in Holden’s life. Sorry to say. This isn’t about family friendly cocktails. I think we can acknowledge that. And after this morning, pretending otherwise would be outright irresponsible. As is, Sean, you’re already headed into dangerous waters.”

He ignored Holden’s best friend. He was sure Elliot could figure out for himself what he thought of that garbage.

Meanwhile, Alastair’s gaze had since returned outside, as if called. A faraway look still in them.

Eventually, Alastair spoke.

“All major course changes require some kind of support, Sean. And I believe Elliot if he says he’s identified a weak point in the one we’re building around my son.”

Now Alastair brought his eyes back into the library and at him.

“Thankfully, it’s a problem with a simple enough solution. Take Elliot up on his offer and go hang out with them for a few weeks. Dinners and cocktails aside, even I have to admit I don’t see you and Holden out together that often.”

And into the hard silence his words caused, Alastair smiled at him. A smile to rival his son’s.

“Besides, you know a thing or two about competition on the field,” Alastair said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

—

If Elliot expected any kind of engagement from him, he didn’t know or care. As soon as Alastair left them in the motor court, with a broad, tight lipped smile, telling them to keep him informed, he headed for his Navigator.

Elliot had disappeared somewhere behind him, and it was only after a moment that he realized Elliot had gone to a car on the other side of Alastair’s Bentley.

Toward a sleek grey sports car.

Evidently, the vehicle of choice for LA’s rich gay scene.

It took another moment to realize that Elliot was talking to him.

“Someone from the Geffen Foundation will be in touch, Sean,” Elliot was saying, beeping open his car. “Whatever you do, please respond to their emails.” And opening the car and getting in, he thought he heard him say, “You can thank me later.”

*

At three p.m. he still hadn’t called Sean.

The article had been published at 11 am, and by three, anyone interested had read it and put up a comment somewhere. And he’d put his phone on priority to stop seeing Darren’s attempts at communication. As tempting as it had become to answer, venting would only provide temporary relief and distraction and not help him figure out how to talk to Sean.

For that, he needed someone who understood his situation. He needed Elliot to get back to him.

Meanwhile, besides Craig’s non-reaction, and Elliot’s new style of not-speaking anger towards him, the only real response he had gotten from any of his friends was from Petey, who had sent a straightforward text of boiling rage. Which had simply stated, _Fuck! me!_

Though he wasn’t sure who the anger was directed at.

Right then he was wrapping up a meeting, gathering paperwork but still in the conference room. Telling himself all afternoon to just call Sean. To just handle it.

But whenever he thought that far, his movements began to slow down, his mind feeling heavy. And, like now, he would just stop.

Straightening, he looked out the glass walls.

And then he heard himself sighing. And simply sat back down.

He was stuck in a kind of embarrassment he had never felt. He’d just sat through a meeting by not looking anyone in the room in the eye, pretending as if he’d never seen words on paper before just to get through it. That wasn’t going to work with Sean.

Because hadn’t he _known_ since the Stern interview that he was waiting for the other shoe to drop? Sean’s subtle comments had been so unsubtle and with the mountain of texts and emails that had followed, not to mention Joel’s behavior and his mother emboldening Darren. Hadn’t he known something was coming?

He was in this loop of fear. And it started with a thought: He could just ignore it all. It was entirely possible that Sean hadn’t read the article. Highly unlikely, as since last summer after the FRC fight, Kara’s job description had slowly creeped into covering Sean’s personal life despite what Sean liked to think.

But not impossible, since Sean had vast reserves of personal discipline and may not want to know, no matter how provocative it sounded.

So maybe just not bring it up.

And then when that very improbably scenario exhausted itself, he went on to thinking that maybe Sean wasn’t angry.

But that one never lasted.

How could Sean not be angry? Even with Joel’s appearance Sean had been angry. Sean had just chosen to resolve his anger in a specific way. And Sean had been willing to go that route because of one thing only, Sean’s trust in him that he was taking care of this side. That he _had_ taken care of it. Right through to Miami, Sean’s unspoken approach had been that as long as all of this stuff was in the past, he was willing to deal with his side. To keep whatever feelings out of their lives.

It was like an agreement he had failed to perform on again and again.

And so when he reached this part, he went back to thinking how he would say he was sorry.

Even if he could get past his shame enough to ask Sean’s family to speak to Sean on his behalf, even if he assured them that everything printed was nonsense, was he talking about an article, or the pain it dug up?

He had his phone in his hand, so he slowly unlocked it, stared at the message from Kay for a minute. Then he locked it again and stood up, pick up paperwork.

Entering his office, his mother was calling. He was so stuck he answered.

“Darling, you really should listen to us more often. I’ll need an instruction manual to understand how on earth you let things get this out of hand. Go and see your father, please.”

“What for?”

She sighed quietly, impatiently. “Consider it humoring me.”

“I thought you’d be happy enough today, actually.”

Silence fell.

“I can’t have this conversation,” he quickly said in place of apologizing. Knowing he’d hurt her feelings.

Knowing he wasn’t wrong.

She was an argument he couldn’t win.

“Your father, Holden. Go and see him.”

She disconnected, leaving him angrily tossing his phone to the couch.

And then abruptly dropping everything in his arms and lunging for the phone before it completely missed the couch, bounced, and splattered on the hardwood floor. Sending back cover in one direction, battery in another.

Files heaped on the floor behind him, he just stood there staring at the scattered plastic components.

Then slowly walking over, he picked up the phone, the battery, back cover, then sat on the couch and reassembled everything. When the white light indicating powering up came on, he watched it until it disappeared and the home screen came back on. And then he called Sean.

Sean answered after a few rings.

“I definitely don’t want to talk about this, sweetheart.”

“Neither do I,” he said softly. “So let’s not.”

Wherever Sean was, it was very quiet.

And if he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that Sean was using the afternoon to find some kind of balance. And as soon as he left work he would go join him. Pull him close and do whatever he could to him until he couldn’t stand up straight. Make him forget that this day ever happened.

Make this hard undertone leave his voice.

“So, if I gotta go do this,” Sean said. “Then let’s fucking get it over with.”

His brow pulled, the sentence not having logically followed from the previous.

“Do what?” he asked.

But Sean had already ended the call.

He pulled the phone away and stared at it.

Do what?

As he looked at it, the phone slowly lit up with an incoming call. Thinking it was Sean and that they’d just suffered a dropped call, he instinctively tapped to answer. 

And then he was staring at a connected call to Darren. And realized that his phone’s crash must have reset his incoming call priorities. He disconnected. And put the phone on silent.

He sat there staring at Darren’s two more attempts, asking himself what the hell Sean had just said. If Sean had to go do what?

His intercom buzzed. He answered the unit by the couch and was told by Rachel that Elliot had just called, that he should go to his office whenever he had a half hour free.

—

Fifteen minutes later, inside Elliot’s office, he was first of all articulating his position.

Maybe a little too defensively.

But he explained that he wasn’t there to compound mistakes by going back on the decision he’d reached about keeping Sean from anyone he had once dated. That wasn’t going to change. That in fact, more so now.

But he was in fact apologizing for not listening, and not having done something sooner.

While he was speaking, Elliot’s paper-thin HTC phone, at rest on the armrest of the chair Elliot was calmly seated in, knees crossed, watching him talk, had slowly and steadily brightened with an incoming call. Glowing with the letters “A.W.”

Elliot glanced at it before casually flipping it over, deadening its buzzing, then moving his arm back and extolling him to please continue.

He did, finding where he’d left off. In finally talking about it, he realized he wasn’t angry. Not about the article, nor even at Darren doing his best to harass him with his phone calls. How could he be? Anger came from feelings, a by-product of caring.

But he didn’t care about the agenda or grievances of Darren or anyone else. So he wanted Elliot to bear that in mind, that he wasn’t angry, and that they needed to think along those lines.

“I’m not going to engage Darren or anyone while I figure out how to curtail this. And I— I have come up with some ideas, actually.”

And it was as he sat forward that the nagging sensation in his brain, about what he’d just seen on Elliot’s phone, slowly, finally, stopped him talking.

After a long, and very quiet moment, he met Elliot’s eyes.

Elliot was staring back at him, eyes narrowed, waiting.

But…it was hard to even voice what he was thinking.

Because he couldn’t remember the last time his dad had called Elliot. Still he wasn’t mistaken that he had just seen Elliot’s contacts entry for his dad light up.

His dad only ever called Elliot when he and Alastair were at major variance. Then, Elliot would invariably receive a badgering phone call asking him to “please reconvey in terms Holden will understand,” whatever point his dad felt he should reconsider.

Again, he couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Maybe over his choice of business school? Seeing the notification had felt more like something he was rather strangely imagining.

But Elliot was looking very darkly at him. And his own cut-short phone call with Sean suddenly surfaced, quietly skipping his heart.

He lifted his hand, pointed to the phone.

“Was that my dad calling you?”

“Yes.”

He stared at Elliot. And Elliot continued staring back.

“Well... What does he want?”

“Probably for you to live up to your family name. He had Sean up this afternoon and encouraged him to get out there with you. Didn’t Sean tell you?”

The words seemed to be sailing across a big, tranquil sea to him, reaching him one by one, and gently docking and disembarking. Like strange, unexpected visitors.

Trying to reply was proving difficult, he couldn’t seem to gather enough air for it.

Finally he said, “You… took Sean to see my dad? Over this?”

“Yes.”

He was back to staring at Elliot.

“What?” he asked blankly.

And then he was no longer able to ignore either the content or tone of his phone call with Sean.

Or the fact that Sean had in fact hung up on him.

“Elliot,” he said hoarsely. “This better be a joke.”

“Just take a breath for a minute, H,” Elliot said gently.

But he was already on his feet and pulling out his phone.

First he checked to see if Sean had called back. If somehow he had missed a call or a message that he should come to wherever Sean was so they could talk. So he could tell him that he didn’t have to do it, whatever this was. Whatever his father had somehow convinced him was necessary.

But there were no missed calls from Sean. Just messages from everyone else in the world.

“I have to go,” he said around the rock in his throat.

“Holden—”

“Elliot, I have to go. I don’t want to talk to you right now.”

“Holden, listen to me— Where are you going?”

Already at the door, he stopped. “What’d you think?” he asked, incredulous. Wondering how Elliot wasn’t seeing that he might have just thrown the rest of the offseason into a shredder. And that covered everything. “I’m gonna go see my dad. Then I’m gonna go up to Malibu to do some damage control. I don’t understand what you think you just did. Or why no one is listening to me.”

“Holden, hold still. Just listen.” They were both at the door. Elliot was close to him, leaning his weight ever so slightly on the door. “Sean is going to take his cues from you. And if you go up there with this look you’re giving me right now, you’re in for a really rough summer.”

“A rough summer, Elliot?”

Elliot stopped talking, his eyes narrowing again. “You want me off your side?”

“Oh, this is not when you give me attitude. What you did is a violation of my privacy. Of my relationship with him.”

“Didn’t you let Sean’s family into your relationship?” Elliot asked, causally, irritatedly. “Didn’t you show up in his hometown and basically demand of his parents and sister that they make him be with you?”

“Do I look nuts to you, Elliot?”

“I’m just saying. Why are their moves okay but ours are toilet paper on the bottom of your shoe?”

“Because you brought my dad into it,” he whispered, trying to contain everything he was feeling. “The one person you _know_ I can’t trust with this. How are you not seeing that as a problem?”

“Because he _is_ the one person who _should_ be involved. Because I was listening to you on the rooftop at Sofitel. Have you not seen Alastair lately? This emotional struggle he’s going through is real and it’s because you’re getting married. _Married,_ Holden. Against everything he understands or expects. How is that not sinking in?”

“What am I even supposed to be _listening_ to here?”

“This is a life-changing moment for any parent who loves their child, how much more your dad, who still sees you as that fourteen year old gay son he has to protect from the world?”

“What?” he asked in confusion. “Are- are you being intentionally weird? Because I honestly can’t tell!”

“You really think he watched you rail on Ben Hanan’s boat and didn’t get how much Sean means to you? Put aside the mess with Ian— No, you need to start putting that in context, Holden,” Elliot insisted, when he tried to interrupt. “You think your dad doesn’t know that besides him, and that fuck up over Ian, Sean is your only other real emotional relationship? You honestly think he was just manipulating you that night so he could be ahead of you when you both _utterly fail_ at managing this _literal_ tabloid mess?”

He breathed. “Elliot, I don’t have time for this. It’s nonsense and I have to go.”

“Fine. Then let me answer your question simply before you go. I had Alastair talk to Sean because your dad _likes_ Sean. Do you get what that means? I sat in his study and watched him talk to a guy you’re seeing like he talks to _us._ Rather than as if he’s visually taking measurements for a fucking funeral suit.”

“Is that supposed to impress—”

“And even more importantly than that,” Elliot continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I did it because your mother likes anyone, anyone at all, Holden, who isn’t named Sean. That article is a confirmation of everything she believes about the way you conduct your private life. And against that, you have an actual problem.”

He pointed at the door. “Can I leave now?”

Elliot stepped back, letting him through.

Outside, in his car, his dad was calling him. Maybe from a return call from Elliot, maybe from not reaching Elliot. So now Alastair wanted to talk. Well, for once it worked out for Alastair.

—

He parked at the bottom of the front steps, got out and hurried up into the foyer where he was greeted by Mikey and another Alvarez family cousin.

Seeing him with no bags and an unmistakable expression on his face, Mikey simply jerked a thumb toward his father’s study before both quickly vanished back into the interior of the house.

Turning toward the study, he stopped when his father appeared in the hallway, slowly walking toward him. Aware too that he wasn’t there to dispense or seek hugs, his father stopped at the entrance to the foyer and arms folded, leaned against the wall. His eyes observant and fully on him.

“Hi, son. How are you tonight?”

“What are you doing, dad?”

But his dad seemed preoccupied, as if in a different set of problems than the one he had just thoughtlessly set in motion.

“Holden, have you ever spoken to Sean about your ex-boyfriends?”

Baffled, and speechless, he stood motionless. While his father’s searching gaze only intensified.

“How you conducted your relationship with any of them, for instance?”

“Oh, you mean like how you would go on weekend trips with your girlfriends with mom at home crying her eyes out and drinking her life away? Is that what you mean? I should have guys I’ve dated spend evenings with me and Sean, share stories so we can all move forward. That kind of thing?”

“No,” his father said, patiently. “But how do you think Sean feels having these men pop of the crowd to challenge him? Last year he didn’t even know of Darren’s existence, much less in what context to take him. This year it’s proving to be even worse.”

“Darren didn’t _pop_ out of the crowd. You and mom tracked him down to whichever rich family’s house he was infesting at the time _and brought him out_ to _insult_ Sean. _Last year,_ you were walking around with Darren like he was the closest thing this family had to a son-in-law. How do _you_ think that made Sean _feel_?”

“I was inconsiderate, I’ll admit that. But here we are now and it’s obvious that Darren alone couldn’t have broken your engagement in January.”

“We didn’t _break_ up and you _know_ it.”

“My point is, it’s not after you’re married that you begin to take care of certain things. This situation is a direct cause of your refusal to address matters. Your past relationships are a source of insecurity to Sean. Anyone can see that. Holden, he appears to be under the _impression_ that you were monogamous during the—”

“Don’t you think I know what you and mom are doing?”

“Son—”

“No, _you_ listen. It’s not even that complex a strategy. Just basics. You can’t threaten a win, so coax one. You couldn’t get him to bow to you, couldn’t investigate and uncover anything to use against him, so now you’re just gonna open up the floor and encourage him to see for himself the awful truth about your son. Where he really belongs in my life. Just one in a line and nothing special, right? Am I _right,_ dad?”

His father had stopped trying to talk back and was staring at the floor, his temperament uncharacteristically quiet.

He just shook his head. “We don’t deserve him in this family.”

“Son—”

He left the house, taking the steps two at a time down to his car. At the bottom, his phone starting buzzing. He pulled it out to see Petey calling.

“Holden,” Petey said sharply as soon as he answered. “Are you still at your dad’s?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay there.” And Petey disconnected.

Surprised, he stared at his phone. He was by his car, still debating whether to get in and go face the music, he looked up when the gates started opening and a silver Mercedes rolled through.

—

Craig had brought Petey. And Petey was incensed. In his father’s back gardens where Petey had demanded he join him, and where Craig had slowly, wordlessly followed, within seconds he was perfectly clear on which direction Petey’s anger from that afternoon ran.

Petey was dressed and seemed to have come straight from some afternoon function which Craig had apparently been attending as well. Which explained Petey’s delay in following up his text.

At the patio’s edge, across from where Petey stood and Craig now sat on a planter farther back, Petey stood with his eyes bright, fastened on him, his words cut and dried. Every ounce of patience from the Thurgood dinner gone. Leaving him feeling like the roots of his hair were singeing.

Shocked, frozen, blushing with embarrassment, he was trying to defend himself. But Petey had only come to be heard. He couldn’t get a word in.

“ _Now_ will you listen?” Petey yelled. “Are you ready to hear what we’ve been trying to tell you for weeks? Or is this what you wanted? This disgrace!”

“Petey, it—”

“How could you have let this happen! Were you not born and raised in LA? Are you not aware of what gay men are like here! Did I not _tell_ you that you’re leaving a dangerous trail of men behind. These men are ready to tear you down from _bitterness._ They think they were never made aware that _marriage _was on the table. The chance to become Alastair Wilson’s son-in-law? Hell, _I_ might have fucked you! _Most_ of whom feel you’re just suffering from infatuation with the first hunky NFL star to come out of the closet.”__

__“Petey—”_ _

__“You think that this is how to get married? How do you think Sean feels right now? Holden— how do you think he _feels?_ That article was _humiliating._ How _dare_ you put that sweet, _sweet_ man of yours through such _contempt!_ All because you can’t face whatever it is you’re running from! Well, guess what, Holden? You’re taking the award this year for colossally bad personal management decisions. No one is impressed. Oh, and certainly not Alastair. You didn’t want him handling your clean up anymore, fine. But look what you’ve done. Complete _nonsense._ ”_ _

__“Petey, I’m just—”_ _

__“And Holden,” Petey said._ _

__And he stopped._ _

__Petey now had what looked like a measure of calm. But he was quite certain it wasn’t. Petey’s eyes had sharpened even more, if that was possible._ _

__“You should _never,_ and I repeat _never,_ have left us to find out about Sean on CNN.”_ _

__Almost petrified at this point, he simply stared at Petey, no longer able to interrupt._ _

__“Yeah, crazy isn’t it? Because we are right here because of it.”_ _

__Petey took a breath, his hand on his waist, his eyes dead on him. Petey looked as if he both wanted to do this and not to do it, and chose the former._ _

__“Yes, we knew something was up in Malibu,” Petey said evenly. “And _of course_ no one was going to interfere with your privacy, especially since half the time we didn’t even know who you were dating in our own circles. We’re used to secrecy around who you date. And yes, we get that, obviously, you had to protect Sean’s secret. But you realize he was out for weeks and you still hadn’t mentioned you were seeing him? Have you any idea how shocked we were to see you two kissing on CNN?”_ _

__Petey had stopped talking, and the silence had extended before he realized that the question hadn’t been rhetorical. Petey was waiting for an answer._ _

__“I’d- I’d just broken up with him. Before he even gave the press conference, I’d— I’d— there was nothing to tell.”_ _

__“You really believe that? I’m just curious, seeing as you got back with him the first chance you got. So you know what it looks like, right?”_ _

__Petey extended the fingers of one hand, daintily ticking off his points._ _

__“He’s out of the closet in February, NFL megastar is gay. You’re apparently dating him by April. Not entirely unexpected, but fine. By summer, he’s proposed. After which we all live happily ever after. But from the purview of pretty much everyone, it’s been less than four months. No, Holden, I wouldn’t take any of it seriously either.”_ _

__He swallowed, tried to think of something to say._ _

__“What’s worse, though, Holden. Is that you’ve had a succeeding year to set everything right. A year and so much good will. Instead you’ve spent the time dodging our questions and acting like we’re the enemy. We’ve all had our crazy days, you’re not gonna get any argument from me there. But Holden, yours have been amazingly self-defeating.”_ _

__And again Petey stopped, and this time seem that he might have gotten it all out._ _

__Whereas this time, he did have nothing to say._ _

__He took a moment to look at Craig. But Craig had his eyes on the flagged stone floor. And as tempted as he was to pull Craig into it, he refrained. Because while Craig did have a natural ability to withstand Petey’s liquid furies, he knew that Craig wasn’t staying silent because he had pressing things to say in his defense and wasn’t._ _

__“Whatever it is you’re trying to hide from him,” Petey calmly said. “No problem. We’re not here to judge. But this is not the right approach. You’re creating a mess. Leaving us at the mercy of your exes and having us scrambling to clean up before Sean arrives. And as you can see, it can’t easily be done. And worst of all, Holden, you’re making some of us look like amateurs before our bosses and philanthropy partners. Who is this person, even.”_ _

__He nodded. “I’ll—”_ _

__Petey snapped his fingers like a nanny trying to make a wayward child listen. He stopped talking._ _

__“You’ll _nothing,_ Holden! You’ll do as you’re told! No more excuses!”_ _

__Petey then stood there glaring at him. And he quickly nodded._ _

__And with a final breath, Petey turned from him and started back into the house. Passing the wrought iron patio furniture he’d sat in with Sean a few short weeks ago._ _

__And a memory flashed with a pang in his chest._ _

__The table and chairs at which he’d sat flirting with Sean. Trying to make him stop thinking about his dad’s opinions and come upstairs with him. Doing it knowing that Sean had been trying to be the good son-in-law and listen to whatever it was his dad had been going on about, when Sean’s attention had really been a few inches to Sean’s left, buried in the crotch of a pair of pants he’d worn which were guaranteed to break Sean’s attention. Because so close to their marriage, nothing much else seemed to have much weight._ _

__When the door to the sun room slammed behind Petey, it seemed as if on the memory itself._ _

__Craig stood up, told him he was taking Petey back to the Hilton and then heading back to the office._ _

__“You’re gonna be all right?”_ _

__He glanced at Craig, nodded._ _

__“Elliot is worried about you. Dinner’s canceled at his tonight. I think he’s feeling a little emotional about what you’re going through. You should call him.”_ _

__He nodded again, no longer looking at Craig._ _

__“Have you spoken to Sean?” At the shake of his head, “You should go see him. Get this over with.”_ _

__“Craig—”_ _

__“I’m not your priority right now, Holden. We can talk whenever. The fact is that you have responsibilities.”_ _

__*_ _


	4. Chapter 4

But by the time he reached Malibu, his fear had settled into something heavy and immovable inside his chest.

Pulled into Sean’s driveway, parked next to Sean’s Navigator, he just sat and stared at the lighted closed doors of the garage Sean never used.

There was nothing left inside him except the cold reality of the article. Every part of it he could remember turned him red.

The truth was that he had, as Petey had so rightly said, humiliated Sean. And worse, he’d put Sean in a position to have to face, not him, but his father over it.

It wasn’t just that he had to find a way to tell Sean how sorry he was, he had to apologize for his father summoning him like that.

He didn’t even have the right to be angry at Elliot. His inaction had put Elliot in a position to do something.

Had he really thought he’d somehow escaped this part? Saying sorry until he was hoarse in Johnston, knowing how very fortunate he was to have the opportunity to say it with his body, not just his words. He thought he’d escaped actual reckoning?

That this side of things would just disappear or reshape to stay out of the bubble he’d tried to sustain for their life together.

He still held out hope that Sean would want to continue with how he’d been dealing with surprise appearances from his past. Which was to not give it overdue weight. That after scraping and dragging themselves emotionally bloodied out of Iowa, Sean no longer wanted anger or blame as a part of it.

But Sean had been deeply angry on the phone. And he knew Sean had read the article.

So he was going to go in there and remind him that they still had options. That they could go back and tell his dad that on second thought, this wasn’t necessary for them moving forward into marriage. His dad might push back, but ultimately he’d respect Sean’s decision. It was Sean’s major advantage, that his dad knew Sean didn’t need his approval. It was how Sean had always stood head and shoulders above the others. And then together they could fix this with his friends. He’d arrange a dinner at which he’d properly introduce Sean to his friends. Have them get to know Sean’s personality and understand better how the summer could be arranged. They could do this.

But he was reasoning all this while still sitting in his car, too scared to go inside.

Because now he was looking at Sean’s front door. And he was seeing himself standing there over a year ago. Hand to his face, crying harder than he ever had as an adult.

It had been the last few hours of Valentine’s Day and he had come to see for himself what Sean had done, fearing that Sean had jeopardized his career due to a final inability to tolerate the stress he’d put him through. For so many years, absolutely, knowingly, put him through.

Instead, Sean had told him he didn’t need him anymore.

And at first, pure self-preservation had made him want to celebrate, to take Sean’s words as absolution at last. Even tried to capitalize on the moment and tell Sean that there was someone out there for him, someone who deserved him better than he did. 

Instead the words had nearly killed him. Probably the moment it all changed for him. And outside, he had given into what had felt like drowning. Unable to understand what was happening to him, where all this emotion was coming from over a man he’d been in such control of.

Freaked because he’d just tried to do what he had done so easily for years, and it had suddenly felt like suffocating.

Looking at Sean’s front door now, he saw the memory like a flickering film reel.

Years of running from the hold Sean had over his heart and the things he’d put him through because of it had culminated not in escape, but finally in penalty.

And all the emails and texts came back to him. Many questions that boiled down to just the one that even friends in all their frustration knew better than to ask.

_What are you so afraid of?_

Briefly, he closed his eyes.

How much could a person love another person? 

How much could the person you loved withstand to know about your relationship?

His phone was quietly buzzing. He pulled it out to see Elliot calling him.

“Elliot,” he said, managed to croak as soon as he heard Elliot’s voice.

“I’m here, H.”

He spilled the words before he lost courage.

“Elliot, I’ve done some very bad things, for which I have no excuse. And I’m afraid that— when he finds out, he’ll realize I don’t deserve him.”

There was a sudden, vast silence.

Elliot seemed to be trying to speak, and when he did, he stuttered.

“Y- you— H, you didn’t cheat on him, did you?!”

“What?”

“Since last year. Since you got engaged. Is- is that what you’re hiding?”

“What? _No._ God, no.”

Elliot broke out a massive sigh. “Oh, thank _fuck,_ Holden.”

Incredulous, he blinked at his windshield. “Why would I—”

“Then you’re fine. I don’t care what you did in the past, you’ve spent the last year fully deserving him.”

But he was still stuck on… “You thought I…?”

“Well, you’ve obviously been hiding something, and what could be worse?”

He fell silent.

And he knew for Elliot, the question was really just rhetorical.

“Elliot, it’s not that simple. This is... I can’t explain it but…this was the worst possible timing. We were in such a good place. _He_ was in such a good place.”

“Do this with him, H. Come out together and you’ll be stronger going into your marriage.”

There was no way that was true. Elliot couldn’t know. But he did.

So that even after he’d hung up with Elliot, even before going inside, he knew that trying to talk to Sean would be futile.

*

In the hopes that when he got hungry for a midnight snack, Sean would be up and wanting to talk, he stayed over.

It never happened, Sean slept through the night like most people, but after the actual futile attempt at talking, at even getting Sean to _look_ at him, he was hopeful that Sean would wake in the middle of the night and be angry enough to pick a fight.

Because it hadn’t been like with Joel. Tonight, Sean’s anger had been visible. Without asking, he knew Sean had definitely read the article.

Any and all previous feelings of embarrassment paling in comparison to the feeling of that article standing between him and the man he loved and wanted to marry.

And so no talking from Sean tonight.

And no entry into Sean’s bedroom for him, either. Tonight he was sleeping on the couch.

It had been a while since he’d gotten the couch. Ironically, usually after he’d come back to Malibu after weeks of...having other men in his life.

So around 1 a.m., he woke up but had zero appetite. And instead of a conversation with Sean, he got a call from Petey.

He’d gone out to get his phone, remembering only after an inattentive search that he’d left it in his car after his talk with Elliot. Leaned against his Lexus under Sean’s security lights, he’d unlocked the phone and was checking messages. If he thought he’d gotten weird texts after the Stern interview...

But the texts had changed in tone.

_Missed you while out tonight. Like always. Article was a bunch of haters._

_You should call some time, Holden. Just drinks, no pressure. Who cares about Darren._

_Was at Viceroy this weekend. Took the royal suite. Thought only of you. PS, TMZ article means nothing to me. I’m sure you know._

_Here if you need a shoulder. Would love to hear from you._

He was staring at them when Petey’s call came in.

Gathering himself, he answered, muttering a “Hi, Petey” before falling silent.

Past usual bedtimes as it was, Petey was nevertheless out somewhere, loud voices in the background. Petey sounded more like his buoyant, upbeat self.

“You okay, babe?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

Compared to them, Petey was a baby. Seven years younger than him and Elliot and nine younger than Craig, at the end of January last year about a month before Sean came out on Valentine’s Day, they’d only just celebrated Petey’s thirtieth. Yet young as he was, Petey had a natural social brilliance that was genius. Especially when it came to herding men. Probably the reason he left Craig in knots. No matter whether they were older, married, in the closet, obnoxiously in the closet, or just out, Petey had it sorted. In fact it came so naturally that he didn’t think Petey quite knew how it worked. It was, ironically, the reason Petey couldn’t live by his own advice.

“Okay, so come by the office for a morning latte,” Petey was saying. “And we’ll take a look at the schedule together and allay your fears. How’s that sound?”

“Sure,” he muttered.

“Aww. Babe, you’ll be okay. We’ll make sure of it. So instead of panicking, use your resources. Us. Sean would go back in the closet before he would ever leave you. So take a breath and see what you have. Have you talked to Craig?” At his muttered no, Petey sighed. “Get on that. I don’t care how bad you feel about cheating on him, we’ll win this thing.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t cheat on him,” he said quietly.

“That’s— not what I meant,” Petey said smoothly. “I meant, whatever you did— that’s...bad. We’ll sort it. Start by talking to Craig. As the lord of guiltless living, I’m sure he can help.”

He sighed. “How?”

“How should I know? Who understands how he thinks? But obviously he can. I mean, have you seen what’s in his iPhone?”

“You’ve seen it?” he asked in surprise. “ _I_ haven’t seen it.”

“Sure. I drugged him once and while he was passed out, I looked at it.”

His eyebrows went up in shock. Then, at Petey’s heavy silence, he started laughing, helplessly.

“Yeah, I wish,” Petey said, ruefully. “I should though, right? Dickhead that he is. Anyway, talk to him.”

A voice rose in the background. One he recognized as belonging to Petey’s self-styled friend, Bryan.

“Where are you, Petey?” he asked pointedly.

“Oh, just having a late meeting,” Petey said lightly. Then laughed. “Don’t tell on me, Holden, we’re all fucked in love.”

His eyebrows went up even higher. “You think you’re in love with that guy?”

Petey laughed. And very mischievously said, “See you in the morning, babe.”

After their connection ended, he returned to his messages app. And pressing and holding, he then tapped OK when it asked if he really wanted to delate all. Then he dropped the phone back onto his passenger side seat, closed the door, and beeped his car locked.

Inside the house, he went to Sean’s bedroom door. Past his messed up comforter, half on the couch and the rest on the floor. At the door, he put his ear to it and knocked. There was perfect silence. Slowly, he tried the door handle. Depressed it. But the door was locked.

Decided that he’d done enough time on the couch, he gently knocked again.

He was greeted with more silence.

Eyes closed, his forehead on the closed door, he thought about so many things. And left the door. Found his way in the dim, illuminated by coastal lights living room, to the guest bathroom by the back balcony sliding doors. Made like a pool house for guests coming in from swimming in the ocean or something.

There he turned on the faucet and wet his hands and ran them through his hair. Pushing it all back off his forehead, off his face. Then splashed water on his face. And stared at himself. His skin was still flushed from his repressed feelings. But the man inside that bedroom was depending on him to hold them together. Whether Sean acknowledged it or not. And there was nothing, certainly no men from his past, that was going to trip him up where Sean was concerned. This wasn’t three years ago.

Back at Sean’s bedroom door, he knocked a little louder. Applying some positive visualizing, he imagine Sean hearing him and waking up.

And then stood back in slight surprise when the lock sounded, and the door was pulled open.

Sean looked like the personification of a storm.

“Get back to your goddamned couch, Holden, and sleep your goddamned hard-on off.”

And the door slammed in face.

*

_Part V, coming!_


End file.
